ONE MASTERPIECE FEAST
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: Now that they're at the MOL Bunker, Dean decides to cook an honest-to-goodness Thanksgiving dinner. After all, it's a family thing to do... Spoilers for Season 9. Happy Thanksgiving!


Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's masterpiece.

* * *

**ONE MASTERPIECE FEAST**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

Running a hand through his sleep-disheveled chestnut hair, Sam Winchester walked into the expansive kitchen in the Men of Letters bunker and scrunched his nose. "What is that smell?"

"That smell as you so offensively put it," announced Dean, turning from the stove, spatula in hand, "just happens to be Thanksgiving dinner."

Sam hitched his pajama bottoms up. "Thanksgiving dinner? You mean like _real_ Thanksgiving dinner?" He grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee.

Dean rolled his eyes. "_Real_ Thanksgiving dinner as opposed to what—_fake_ Thanksgiving dinner?" Dean gave the onions and celery he was sautéing another quick toss.

"But…how?" The younger Winchester leaned his hips against the edge of the long table, sipping from his mug.

Again turning from the stove, Dean picked up a thick cookbook from the counter in one hand and waved it around. Its glossy pages fluttered. "I can read, you know," he grouched. He placed the book back down, paging through it with his index finger until he found the page he'd been using. "Not much different from the concoctions we throw together all the time."

Sam sighed and did some eye-rolling of his own. "Didn't mean it like that. It's just…I'm surprised. I know you've been cooking off and on since we've been here but I never pictured you taking on a gourmet holiday feast that sometimes gives the greatest of chefs heart palpitations."

"I like a challenge."

"I know. But still I'm surprised." Sam finished his coffee. "So what made you decide to do this? Besides the fact that you like to putter around this kitchen like Julia Child reincarnated."

"Julia Child?" scoffed Dean. "You mean Gordon Ramsey."

Sam nodded in concession. "Good point. I admit you do have the swearing thing down pat now that I think about it. So this is all just for the challenge?"

Dean shrugged. "Eh, I dunno. With Kevin here, I kinda thought this might be something nice for him." The "_and you"_ went unspoken.

"Hate to say it but I doubt he thinks he has anything to be thankful for," Sam muttered softly.

"Well, he has us. We're his family now. And this is a family thing to do so..."

Sam straightened and dropped his empty mug on the table. He padded toward the stove. "You're right, it is. Man, gotta say it all smells fantastic! So what else are you making besides the turkey?"

Beaming with pride, Dean brandished the spatula like an orchestra conductor's baton and pointed to various pans and dishes arrayed on both the stove and the counter. "Homemade mashed potatoes, homemade stuffing—none of that boxed crap—creamed corn, broccoli with cheese sauce, AND just for you, candied yams with marshmallows."

"Wow. Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Smart ass."

"Yeah, but you still love me."

Dean scowled. "Right, I'm seriously re-thinking that." He turned the burner off under the sauté pan.

"Hey, check this out—I made a pie!" Dean walked to the counter and picked up his prize off the counter. It was a little uneven but it was indeed a pie. And Sam's favorite too—pumpkin.

"Just one? What're you guys having for dessert?"

"Haha. Sorry, bro, you're just gonna have to share."

"Did you get Cool Whip?" His eyes lit up. It was one of Sam's few vices—one that carried over from childhood. He could eat an entire container with a spoon.

"You know I did," scoffed the older man, "Pumpkin pie isn't pumpkin pie unless there's Cool Whip!"

"Sounds awesome! I can't wait." Sam snatched up a piece of raw broccoli from a bowl and popped it into his mouth.

Dean slapped at his hand when he reached for another piece. "Dude, stop filching! In fact, get outta the kitchen all together. I need to concentrate! This masterpiece feast isn't gonna cook itself."

"But…"

"Out!"

"What about breakfast?"

Dean grabbed a box of cereal from the cupboard and thrust it into Sam's hands. "Here. Now go watch the parade or something."

"The parade?"

"Yeah, you know, the parade—the one with all the big giant balloons and everything. Go. Watch. Find Kevin and make him watch."

Suddenly Sam's grin widened and he hugged the box of dry cereal to him. "Yeah. You know what—I think I'll do just that." He turned to leave the room.

Dean reared back when Sam stiffened and whipped back around quickly, his eyes glowing angel-blue. "Zeke?" he murmured tentatively, his brows drawn together quizzically.

The angel tilted Sam's head to the right. "You did something."

"I what?"

The angel's expression was coldly earnest. "Dean, you did something just now—I do not understand what exactly. However, it has proven to be a good thing."

"Ooookay. I have no idea what you're talking about but go on."

The angel tilted his head the other direction and there was a brief shadow-flash of tattered wings. "Your brother's own healing ability—it just surged. It was almost miraculous. It will give me a brief respite in repairing the damages to his body, in truth benefitting us both."

"Great…that's great," Dean swallowed hard, his gaze flitting downward and to the left. He was still uncomfortable with his decision to allow the angel to possess his brother despite the fact that it was the only way to save his life.

"It is indeed great as you say. Be happy."

Dean shivered at the cool, unemotional delivery. "I'll be happy—happier—when Sam's well again."

The blue light abruptly winked out and Sam staggered slightly. "Whoa. What just happened?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Happened? Nothing happened, Sammy. You were on your way to the watch the parade on TV."

Sam frowned slightly, feeling off-kilter. "Oh. Yeah. Okay. I just thought…" he sighed. "Never mind." He pivoted on his heel, prepared to again leave, opening the box of cereal and shoving a handful into his mouth. "God, I'm starving. Dude, how many hours till the food's ready?"

"Too many." Dean opened the oven door and began to baste the turkey.

_Be happy._

And though he knew it was a folly, for that precise moment, Dean was, as the angel commanded, happy.

_**FIN**_

* * *

_**HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO MY SPN FAMILY!**_


End file.
